


It's Just A Shirt

by Anon6285_omo (Anonymous6285)



Series: Omovember 2020 [15]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Omorashi, Omovember, Wetting, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28213788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous6285/pseuds/Anon6285_omo
Summary: Day 18: inappropriate container-George has to pee while Paul's in the shower.
Series: Omovember 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995883
Kudos: 11





	It's Just A Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I've decided I'm going to post what I've written so far of this series and post the other prompts when I write them lol

George really didn’t think it would be a problem as he laid on his back, eyes running through the sentences of a book he had over his head. He stopped reading when Paul groaned and sat up in his own bed.

“I have to piss,” the bassist muttered, starting to walk towards the toilet. The guitarist giggled at the way he walked, still half asleep.

Then, his book fell right onto his face, and he gasped picking up the book and rolling over in the bed. That’s when he felt an urgent pressure in his abdomen, and he knew he had to piss. Bad. He got up out of the bed, walking over to the toilet, bouncing on the balls of his feet and hoping that Paul would be done soon. Surely it couldn’t take him that long to go pee, right?

So he didn’t worry too much. He sat back down on his bed with his book and read another few pages until his bladder contracted, reminding him of the pressing need. Maybe it would be better if he just knocked on the door and told Paul to hurry up. That wouldn’t be too humiliating, right? Surely the bassist would understand. Even if he didn’t, at least he would get to relieve himself.

He started on his way to the toilet door again, ready to just knock and get the embarrassing part over with, but as soon as he got there, he heard the bath water start, and his stomach dropped. That meant Paul was about to shower, and it would be way too awkward to have to go in there at the same time. 

So he stifled a groan and started to pace the floor, hoping to keep his mind occupied, away from the topic of concern at the moment. Finally, he just couldn’t take it, feeling a small bit leak out, and he hobbled over to the toilet door and knocked. No reply came, so he knocked again, louder this time.

But the shower had already started, so Paul wouldn’t be able to hear him until after he was out. He looked around for a trash can or something he could use, finding none. The only trash can in the room was in the bathroom, the only place one would even have to worry about trash in here, anyway. 

He also searched desperately for bottles, because his piss was definitely coming out soon, and he really didn’t want to wet his pyjama trousers. When he still found nothing, he contemplated getting in the bed and just letting go, pretending he’d wet the bed. But that would result in him having to tell Paul, or anybody, what had happened, and that wasn’t something he was thrilled about.

Then he looked over at his bag of clothes. His suit was hanging by the closet, and that was all he’d need for the day, so if he went in his t-shirts, he could surely wash them that night at the hotel. And this way, nothing would get on his legs. It seemed perfect.

Before he could even reason out a logical answer to his problem, his bladder was starting to empty, slowly but surely, and he fell onto his knees next to his bag, unzipping it, aiming into it, and letting go. 

Relief flooded through him, so much that he didn’t even take the time to look down at the bag as he went, only sighed, head flung back in absolute bliss. He’d never had to piss so bad in his entire life, so this definitely was something, almost orgasmic.

His stream tapered off after fifteen seconds or so, and he finally chanced a look down to see the damage done, immediately being met with a completely soaked white, button-up shirt. The one he was supposed to wear with his suit today. How could he have been so careless as to--

The shower shut off, and he jumped in place, heart pounding as he hurriedly zipped up his bag, throwing it against the wall. He pulled his pants all the way back up and walked over to the toilet door, waiting anxiously for it to open. 

Trepidation coursed through him as the door creaked open, and Paul stood there with a towel around his waist. “What’s the matter with you, love? Look like you’ve seen a ghost, you do.” He shrugged, getting past Paul as fast as he could and slamming the toilet door closed. 

He fell into the wall and sank down as his hands shook, snaking around his knees and pulling them closer to his rapidly expanding and contracting chest. He knew he was only making this worse for himself, making it harder for him to take a big enough breath to reach the bottom of his lungs.

Then the door flew open, because god dammit, he forgot to lock it.

“Christ! Geo, what’s going on? Is this about the interview today?” Paul was met with silence, so he got down on the ground next to the younger man, trying his best not to make him feel weird. “Look, I know it’s scary. I’m scared, too. You really never get used to live television, you know.” George gasped for more air, and that’s when Paul pulled him up. “Deep breaths, kid. You won’t get any better curled up in a ball like that.”

George wished at that moment that he had just peed in the bed. At least he could have told Paul without an explanation. And the man was in a good mood today, so he probably wouldn’t have minded too much, anyway.

But what was done was done, and he couldn’t change that. He definitely couldn’t wash his shirt before they had to meet Brian in--

“Are you two almost ready??” came John’s booming voice, echoing through the small room.

“Piss off, Johnny!!” Paul called back, eyes searching George’s face for something to let him know he was okay. “We’re getting dressed!” No voice responded, so they only assumed John had walked away. “You alright? Want me to bring you your suit?” George shook his head. “Alright. Come and get it then. Don’t wanna get yelled at by Eppy if we’re late.”

Paul walked right out and started to get himself dressed, and George got his suit and put it on, buttoning up his jacket all the way. Maybe if he was able to hide the fact that he didn’t have his shirt available today, nobody would even notice. But he walked out of the door, and Paul saw immediately.

“Happened to your shirt?” he laughed, stressing out the guitarist even more. He didn’t answer. “Georgie? What happened?” He only shook his head. “Hey, talk to me, love. Where’s your shirt?”

His eyes got red as he headed for the door. “I’m s-sorry, I had to go…” Paul eyed him up and down.

“What do you mean?” But instead of continuing the conversation, George walked right out of the hotel room and towards Brian’s room. Paul followed him, still worried about what had him so wound up.

They met up with the other Beatles and Brian in his room, and Brian also saw that he had no shirt on. 

“George, the hell are you wearing?” Brian started to get a bit nervous. “Paul where’s his shirt? Did you leave it somewhere?” He focused back on the bright red guitarist, and George shook his head. “Where is it?” He didn’t know what he was supposed to say. Surely, he couldn’t say ‘it’s in my bag, but it’s covered in piss because I couldn’t wait five minutes for Paul to get out of the shower.’ That would be humiliating.

“George,” Ringo said, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Mmm..” he whispered. “S’in my bag…” He looked down at the ground as a tear ran down his nose, wanting to hide it from the others. 

Ringo glanced over at Brian. “Let’s go get it, okay? We’ll be right back, won’t we, Geo?” He shrugged. “Right. Come on, then.” He led the man back down the hall to his room and as they got inside, Ringo walked over to George’s back. He had his hand on the zipper before George could even say anything.

“Richie, I don’t think it’s a very good idea to open it.”

Ringo paused. “Why? What happened?” George didn’t respond, only sat nervously on the bed, watching Ringo slowly unzip it. It couldn’t be that bad… but soon, the smell hit him, and he cringed. “Did you spill something in here? I thought your food was in the other bag--” 

“Paul was taking too long in the toilet, and there wasn’t a trash can or anything out here that I was supposed to use, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought my shirt was with my suit, and I was just going to clean the rest of the clothes tonight, but when I realised it was in there, it was too late, and I didn’t know what to do, and now Brian’s gonna get mad at me, and--”

“George! Hey, relax.” The guitarist quieted, giving Ringo a second to think about what he’d said. “So you… pissed on it?” He would have been amused at the situation if it wasn’t for the embarrassment of his friend. “Okay, that’s okay. I’ll go let Eppy know, and we can just get it sorted out.” George mumbled something, but Ringo didn’t hear what he said. “What was that?”

“Does Brian have to know? I don’t want him to be mad.”

“He won’t be--” Ringo saw the way George was looking at him, and they both knew there was no point in trying to make him feel better about it. Their manager was sure to be upset about it and stress himself out. No avoiding that. “I’ll tell him it was an accident, yeah? He can’t be mad at you for an accident, right?”

“You expect too much from him,” George muttered. 

“He needs to know, love. You know that. And if he gives you a hard time, I’ll deal with it, okay? He’s a good man. He won’t mind.” George knew it was a lie, but he’d be damned if it didn’t make him feel better, the calmness of Ringo’s voice assuring him that he was going to be fine. It was just a little blip.

“Okay,” he said, almost inaudibly, and Ringo turned to go get their manager.


End file.
